


Gossip

by AldreaAlien



Series: Maxwell Trevelyan [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AldreaAlien/pseuds/AldreaAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having never been in the spotlight quite as much as he is now, the gossip around Skyhold steadily worries at Maxwell’s certainties...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gossip

Maxwell sat in Skyhold's chapel. Alone. Pensive. It'd been months since he'd prayed. The business with the Breach and stopping Corypheus made it all seem secondary—not to mention the dent in his pride after having been so certain of being chosen by Andraste. Even now, with things relatively quiet, he couldn't bring himself to think of the Chant, much less speak the words.

Instead, his mind buzzed, not with the almost unintelligible whispers of voices long since dead. No, his thoughts were turned to finding a solution to his problem, the gossip his closeness with Dorian had summoned up, without making things worse. He couldn't control what the people knew any more than he could stop what they said. In Ostwick, his older siblings usually held the nobles' attention, whether through deliberate acts or their mother's prodding, and that was how he liked it.

He barely noticed the court talking about them the first time. He'd been on his way to the war room, intent on speaking to his advisors on the matter of tracking the Grey Warden that Hawke knew, when the beginning whispers reached his ears.

 

_"Would you have guessed such a pairing?" one of the noblewoman asked of her companion._

_He halted near the scaffolds, not certain he'd heard right. Surely they weren't—_

_"Oh, yes," the man replied. "The lure of command. Noble names. Classically arousing in every sense."_

_Maxwell fidgeted on the spot, his cheeks heating. The pair had to be discussing his… interaction with Dorian. He should've expected it. No denying that news of the Inquisitor and a Tevinter mage engaging in even something as tame as a kiss would be excellent gossip._

_The woman must have noticed his suddenly rigid frame for she warned, "Careful. Ears."_

_"Of course," the man whispered, his tone a little too smug for Maxwell's liking._

_He resumed his original path, his burning face quite likely noticed by the more observant. People loved to talk, the courts more than most, and he hadn't exactly been discreet. He should have. For both their sakes._

He'd shrugged it off back then, not even certain if anything would even come of his poorly-timed kiss. It wasn't until much later, when the next morsel came about. Not long after the business with returning the Pavus birthright back to its owner. He'd been on his way to speak with Leliana at the time and had barely stepped into the rotunda, the door clicking shut behind him, when he heard their muffled talk.

 

_"Has there been an exchange?" asked a man and Maxwell was certain was the same one who'd spoken about his relationship before._

_Maxwell almost fell over his own feet to press himself against the door. Were they truly talking about what he thought they were?_ Exchange? _he mused._ Is that what they call it here? _The man was about to be sorely disappointed, for Maxwell hadn't engaged in such an act for—Maker, had it truly been six years now? But he'd spent most of that time trying to track down his younger sister. Such 'exchanges' weren't in the forefront of his mind._

_"You're awful!" a woman, a different woman from the last time, replied with a gasp that didn't allay his suspicions._

_"Not_ that _," the man insisted. "Gifts. Or perhaps betrothals."_

_"Of a sort," the woman said. "Very romantic."_

_"Vicariously satisfying," the man responded._

_So someone had spread word of Dorian's emotional reaction to the surprise return of his amulet. That wasn't nearly as bad as what he'd first believed and it wasn't as if they'd been in private. He probably should've tried to make it so, like the kisses the pair stole every now and then, but that might've conveyed the wrong impression to everyone. Especially Dorian. He couldn't afford to risk that._

 

After that conversation, it was with trepidation that he dared to walk through the main hall. That he hadn't heard any gossip involving Dorian or himself for quite a while did little to ease his concerns. There was always the next time, or the time after that...

True enough, not long after his return from Crestwood—where Sera had impressively managed to kill a man with repeated blows to the head with her knee—and seeking word with Josephine on an altogether different matter, he stumbled into the next piece of gossip on his love life.

 

_"We reach the climax," a woman said._

_"Not just us," the man she was talking to replied. The man barely needed to speak for Maxwell to know it was the same blighted one that'd been discussing his personal affairs from the get go._

_Maxwell stopped dead, his face steadily growing hotter at the man's suggestive tone. Were they really talking about—?_ Maker, they are _. How could they have known_ that _? His quarters were isolated from the rest of the fortress' occupied buildings and sat twice as high as the main hall's roof. They couldn't have been heard, even if Dorian wasn't exactly a quiet lover. Nor had he pegged Dorian as a man to crow about his exploits. Especially not after the concern he'd first expressed on their burgeoning relationship. It had to be pure speculation._ Unless _…_

_Just how discreet had the mage been in entering and leaving the tower? Who could've possibly seen Dorian and connected it all? Maxwell shook his head. It would only take one and the potential for so many was too great._

_"Oh you!" the woman replied. "This could be serious. Perhaps there will be gowns."_

_Maxwell practically choked on his own tongue. Gowns? Perhaps they weren't talking about— No, of course they were._ Well, they _are_ Orlesian _. They already wore those silly masks. Maker knows what else they got up to._

_The man laughed. "Perhaps not, but think of the hats."_

_"Wicked, wicked hats," the woman gloated. "I do hope so."_

_Glowering at everything in his path, Maxwell continued on his way._ Unbelievable _. Why couldn't everyone just keep their nose_ out _of his business?_

 

Still, he tried to look on the bright side. Now he knew that _they_ knew just how far his relationship with Dorian had gone, the worst had to be over and done with. And yet, the gossip persisted, its focus alarmingly turning to a certain ceremony Maxwell had spent much of his life trying to avoid in way one or another.

 

_"I've chosen a buckle-over with turquoise," a man said. "Five feathers."_

_In the past, Maxwell would've quietly blanked out talks of fashion, but everything seemed to smack of him and Dorian these days. And this, despite its apparent innocuousness, was no exception. He wasn't certain if he could consider it merciful or not that it wasn't the same voice he'd almost become accustomed to. Did it mean the gossip was spreading? Or had it always been this extensive?_

_"You're so bold," the woman the man spoke with replied. "I have selected simple shades of rose. And a shocking parasol."_

_The man scoffed. "Careful, you'll distract from the happy couple."_

_Maxwell grimaced. Maker's breath, why did everyone expect him to get married? He was perfectly content with his current arrangement._

_"Impossible," the woman said._

_"I do agree. But what if…?"_

_"No date before the seasons and fashion change?" the woman replied, picking up on her companion's apparent distress. "Disaster."_

_"Agreed."_

_Maxwell sneered and continued on his way to the forge. Bloody nosy Orlesians._

 

It hadn't ended there. There'd be plenty of chatter about the pair of them dancing on the balcony at the Winter Palace. He'd known there would be at the time and was too pleased to have survived the night to have cared what they said. The talk of their supposed 'tiff' after storming the Adamant Fortress was also to be expected, with neither happening in private. What he hadn't anticipated was the horror with which they spoke. As if they feared Dorian and himself might go their separate ways.

A fear that he could, privately, admit mirrored his own.

Maxwell gaze blindly lifted to the statue of Andraste. Their chatter only served to remind him of a previous time he'd been the centre of such talk. That'd been back when he had informed his last lover just what he thought of him cheating. The discussion ended with an arrow embedded in the door leading to the Chantry's library. Even then, the talk such an act stirred had been on a relatively smaller scale, restricted to the Ostwick Chantry and Circle.

He frowned at the red candles scattered about the statue's base. Back then, he dealt with their talk by ignoring it. He'd the luxury of being little but another lay brother, if one of the few claiming noble birth. Unfortunately, such a tactic wasn't an option here.

The creak of a door warned him of company. The click of metal hitting the stones could've belonged to anyone, if not for the subtle swagger in the rhythm. Maxwell knew of only one person who walked like that. _Dorian_.

His lover halted next to the bench. "Am I… interrupting?"

He shook his head and gestured to the bench opposite, inviting Dorian to sit. "I was just thinking. The court's been gossiping."

Dorian took up off the offer. "As courts are want to do."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He'd told himself that a dozen times already. His gaze remained steadfast on the statue, watching the flames flickering in the bowl. "About marriage."

"Always a popular topic."

Maxwell let his gaze drop to his lover's face. If the man didn't know already, he'd find out soon enough. " _Ours_ specifically."

Dorian blinked, temporarily speechless. Then a smirk took his handsome face. "Have they now? Is there something you've neglected to inform me or is having one party oblivious of their coming nuptials a southern custom?"

Maxwell grinned. "Not that I'm aware of."

" _This_ is the talk going around right now?" The man chuckled as Maxwell nodded. It was a delightfully low and easy sound, one that had drawn him all that closer to the man despite his original reservations on trusting a mage from Tevinter. "I can just imagine the look on my father's face once he hears _that_ rumour."

"It would probably match the one on my mother's." His father wouldn't mind, but his mother? After all those times she tried to marry him off to this or that young noblewoman only to have him point blank refuse? She was likely already frothing at the mouth.

The laughter faded as Dorian's amusement melted into concern. "And this… talk bothers you?"

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to his boots. His relationship with the mage—a _Tevinter_ mage, of all things—could've been seen in a far darker light. It was something of a relief to hear it so openly accepted. "It does make me think, though. I know you said we'd talk about 'after' some other time, but that was some months ago." So many things had happened since then. First the assassination attempt on Empress Celene, then the siege on Adamant Keep and subsequent hurtling into the Fade, and finally discovering the Well of Sorrows. "Are you still planning to return to Tevinter when this is over?"

Silence greeted him. He lifted his head, peering up at Dorian. Maxwell tracked the lump in his lover's throat bob as Dorian swallowed. Even with having asked, he wasn't certain he wanted to know the answer.

Finally, Dorian sighed. "I said I would think on it. If my decision changes, you'll be the first to know."

His throat closed at the thought of his lover leaving for Tevinter alone. He'd been irrational the last time they spoke of it, pleading with the man to stay. Selfish of him. " 'Us' doesn't have to end if you do." What if Dorian got into trouble there? Serious trouble, the sort he could die from? The thought hadn't left him since the mage mentioned leaving. Even with all the danger they'd faced together, he still wasn't certain how he'd handle losing the man. "No reason why we couldn't make it work." His older sister spent months apart from her husband and they didn't seem the worse for wear. "Unless you'd rather we went our separate ways?"

"No." Dorian shook his head in emphasis. "That's _not_ what I want."

"What _do_ you want, then?"

His dark brows drew together. For the first time in a long while, he seemed uncertain. "It occurs to me that you've never mentioned having reservations."

"Because I don't." Part of the reason he'd taken so long to let anything beyond a few kisses happen between them was because of past failures. He'd become a brother of the Chantry thanks to a toxic mixture of heartache and avoiding his mother's attempts to marry him off. And Dorian had all but told him at the start that he wasn't interested in a deep relationship.

Yet, the longer they were together, the more they drifted into the realm of 'mutual domesticity'. Maxwell had been on the cusp of such a situation in the past, before everything went wrong. He was happy with things the way they were now and Dorian seemed equally as content. "But if there is any hint that you'd prefer to part ways at the end of all this, I'd rather know now than have you spring it on me later."

"All on me again, I see."

Maxwell flinched. He hated dumping the majority of choice on his lover, but what else could he do? Plead for Dorian to stay? Demand it? Neither option sat well with him. "I'm not the one who'd be leaving."

"True enough." Those pale eyes ran over him and a soft crease appeared in his brow. "Do… do you really think we could make it work if I left?"

 _Maybe_. Worst case? They'd wind up drifting apart. He didn't like the idea of losing someone he'd come to—dare he even think it— _love_ so casually, yet all the other options seemed no less pleasant. "I'm sure we'll muddle through, somehow."

A smile touched the lips he'd kissed just this morning. Small but no less amused. "Like the Inquisition? Make it up as we go?"

Maxwell shrugged. "Works for me." Much of his life had consisted of nothing but 'making it up'.

A low chuckle shook Dorian's shoulders. "Clearly." He got to his feet, brushing the dust off his clothes, and sighed. "I have, admittedly, grown rather attached to you." He crossed the gap between them in a single stride. Dorian tipped Maxwell's head back as he bent to kiss him. "There'd be nothing to lose in trying this your way," he mumbled against Maxwell's lips.

Grinning, he bumped the side of Dorian's leg with his boot. "Careful, you're starting to sound like an optimist."

"I am, aren't I?" He smirked. "That's entirely _your_ influence, you know."

He arched a brow at the man. "Selling yourself short?"

"Oh no. I blame _you_. Always dragging me along whenever you leave Skyhold." He shook his head. "I think I've actually seen most of southern Thedas through helping you save every single person we come across."

With his grin widening, Maxwell also stood, turning to leave the chapel. "Admit it," he said, bumping Dorian's shoulder with his own. "You _like_ helping people."

"I like _living_ , too, yet you still take me with you to hunt dragons."

Maxwell laughed. He entwined his fingers with those of his lover's and lifted Dorian's hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles. "That reminds me, I must speak with Morrigan." He let his grip loosen, affording his lover every opportunity to let go, as he went to pass through the door and out into the garden.

Dorian's hold tightened, the pressure insistent enough to halt him.

Curiosity turned him. "Wh—"

Before he could finish the word, Dorian had stepped closer and pinned him against the doorframe. Their lips brushed together. Soft. Hesitant. Maxwell leant into each touch, barely breathing between kisses. Even now, after all these months, he couldn't quite ignore how the moustache tickled. He'd never been all that fond of lip hair any longer than stubble. Until now.

Their tongues entwined. Firm and insistent. It wasn't enough. The impious fire in his gut burned to be closer still. He dug his fingers into his lover's outfit and tugged, the leather in his grasp biting into his skin. Already there was the unforgiving wood at the back and Dorian's warmth pressing against him. No purchase to obey the growing need. His thoughts quickly shifted to the idea of returning to the confines of the chapel, to swallow more than just his lover's breath.

 _No_. With great reluctance, Maxwell relinquished Dorian's mouth. _Not here_. He may have chosen to abandon his Chantry and willingly break several of the vows he'd made as a brother of the faith, multiple times, but he was still Andrastian. "Dorian…" he growled. He couldn't have a coherent conversation with Morrigan, or anyone, in this state.

Those pale eyes opened, mirroring Maxwell's desire. "So." The smirk Dorian gave was small. Teasing. "Shall we sneak off to your quarters, then?" The question escaped his lover's lips in a low rasp, thick and hot.

Maxwell tipped his head back and groaned. "Too far." He really couldn't face climbing all those stairs right now. Fortunately, he knew of an alternative. "What about your chambers? They _are_ still assigned to you, are they not?" With the influx of people journeying to Skyhold, he wouldn't be surprised if the typically vacant room was used by another.

Dorian chuckled. "If not, I'm sure we'll make do."


End file.
